Marytales
by Lupia
Summary: Mary lives a life of wicked witches, sprites and NotSoRoyal Prince Charmings.
1. In the ink

Hello! I know I say that I try to have one fanfic at a time, but seriously, I need to get this story out of my system. My brain has been whittling away at this plot for a week or so, and now I can't get it out of my head. Some of the chapters basically will be a parodies on famous fairytales (get it? Marytales?) or stories, with the occasional none-parody chapter. Oh, and I put this story up yesterday, but I deleted it because I saw an error that bothered me, no wrries. S'all good. :)

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**Marytales**

Chapter one: **In the ink**

Mary was always an avid reader, even as a babe; never did she leave a book uncompleted. As a little girl, she would take her father's biology books and her wide dark doe eyes would scan the pages, taking in the information and nodding at the detailed diagrams, understanding. Her brain was an amazing mechanical device, intricate, glittering with imagination, wheezing and gasping with the information it held. And yet little Mary was but a librarian, when she could be an inventor, a writer, an actress, with her level of skill and imagination!

Yet she seemed to enjoy life as a librarian immensely. Rare was a time when footsteps other than Mary's own petite soles stepped upon the gleaming polished floors. Public it may have been, it was not for _them_, it was for _her_. She could do things in there that would have been frowned upon anywhere else: sitting down in a cosy corner of the room, burning the midnight oil, as she was being transported into the world of Dickens, for example? What about reciting Shakespeare? She could even write poetry and stories with no one other than the characters of her beloved books stalking the pages of her books, and the little family of mice she had befriended in the room.

It was her escape, her sanctuary; her mother was a disappointment to her – materialistic, ill mannered, even a little bit – dare she say it, selfish. Her father had been her favourite person in the world till he, too, had had enough of his wife, and found _his_ escape; drink. He drank a lot, and stumbled home, yelling, slurring his words, pointing the finger of accusation at anyone; Mary couldn't bear to see him like this, so she was simply go into her warm little library, heat the fire and sit down with a good book.

Yet Mary held with her a plenty of hope; worried as she was about her family, she had no doubt in her mind that one day they would hold hands like a happy family again, with a nice, happy mother and a calm, intelligent father. Mary believed in happy endings. Her eyes had traced the pages of the oldest, dog eared paper backs which pages held glorious happiness. She loved fairytales, anything like that.

She seemed to live a fairytale life; her eyes seemed so faraway, she had perfect manners, she spoke in a soft, feminine voice, and she frequently spoke in peculiar, poetic ways. You couldn't help wondering what on earth was going on in that mind. She had a rather rambling, quietly spontaneous manner, and she often wrote stories, and had a quiet step, which came in useful when doing such secret things like slipping outside after midnight for a long moonlight walks. Well. Actually, she had never gone for a moonlit walk, but it was a nice idea. It was the type of thing she would do.

She was unorganised for a librarian, she was strange, she was a little bit pretentious, she could even be quite mean when riled up, but she was a kind girl; she put others before herself – which, is nearly a rare trait nowadays.

She nearly always read other people's stories, or if she wrote a story, she would write about someone else. This time, it's her story.

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That was fun. Bye. 


	2. Wicked witch

Hi-ho! Thank you Awesome Rapidash – you actually are awesome :) This current parody will be … dum-dum-dum-dummmm … Snow White? Yeah. It'll last for about three chapters.

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**Marytales**

Chapter two: **Wicked witch**

Snow White

Little Mary came from a faraway land before her family moved to Mineral town – her mother came down a treat with the women of the village with her airs and graces, her good looks and her lovely clothes. Anna was popular right from the moment her three-inch high heeled stylish Mary Janes hit the rosy cobbles.

Basil, her father, had always been lean and handsome. He spoke with a calm, deep, reassuring voice, accompanied with an intense gaze, complimented by his chiselled features. But if he was talking to you, however, it was likely that he was talking about a less than glamorous topic: botany. He had a fiery passion for every single plant, and if he saw a plant being trodden on, you might have seen him wince.

Mary had been a dear, dainty little girl, with polite manners, a curious nature, and a devotion to her parents. It had long been decided that she was a Plain Child, although it had gone unnoticed that she was rather striking, glossy raven-black hair trailing down her back, clear, pure lily-white skin and soft, ripe red lips.

They _seemed_ like the perfect, well-to-do family.

Mary held her books self-consciously. She had never been walked home by a boy before and she was quite determined not to spoil the nice afternoon they had spent together. She was a still slightly shocked that Gray had liked her, _and_ plucked up the courage to her.

'Well, I think it's best to leave me here,' Mary mumbled through her scarf, gesturing to the vineyard. 'People will talk if you walk me right up to my house.' This was a half-truth; it was true, but it was also the cover-up for the fact she had not told her parents she was out _with a boy_, and as far as they knew, she was spending extra time at the library. 'I really did have a nice time, Gray. I hope I didn't bore you.'

Gray shuffled, and pulled his cap further down his head. 'Well – do you want to come out with me next week? Thursday's my day off. We could go to Mother's Hill again…'

Mary touched her hair and gestured to the small glittering snowflakes. 'It will be four foot snow by next week,' she replied knowingly. 'I – I _suppose_ – you could come for dinner… my mother can cook rather well…'

Gray nodded and smiled. 'I'd like to. Bye… Mary.'

'Bye…' Mary whispered, and watched him walk away, fade into distance and turn the corner. Her stomach jumped again, and she too walked up to her house, her face pink with happiness.

It had been a normal day in their gleaming little Tudor home, and now it was beginning a normal evening in their gleaming little Tudor home. Mary trailed in dreamily with the mustard yellow book with yellowing pages, that was possibly older than time itself. She noticed the mud-caked walking boots on a thatch of newspaper in the porch, which let her know her father was home already. She turned the gleaming doorknob and that's when it went from a normal evening to a not-so-normal one.

'I see you have _another_ scruffy little book with you,' her mother commented, washing the dishes, without turning around to see this.

Mary knew that her mother, Anna _must_ be a witch – a wicked one. If Mary ever thought negative feelings about Anna or her friends, Anna would suddenly look up and say, 'No, Mary.' If Anna disagreed with anyone, not-so-coincidental coincidences would occur, like an iron that was not plugged in would fall on that person's _bare_ foot and crikey, by defying some laws of electricity, it would be scorching. Anna would fix them with a knowing gaze.

'It's a wonderful book you know, it's about a _witch_—' Mary began, thinking that her mother was interested.

'Silly Mary, don't you know witches are make-believe?' her mother interrupted, with a gleam in her eye that confused Mary. Although Mary and her father blamed these strange coincidences on witchcraft, they didn't honestly believe her mother was a real witch – it was true witches _were _make-believe – it was more of a serious joke. A _very _serious joke.

Even Basil looked up from his newspaper at this. Anna was looking around with a dangerous smile, teasing them. They held their breath. She glanced around once more, then turned around back to her washing. They both breathed out with relief. Mary's stomach jumped again, and she opened her mouth too speak about Gray, about to weave a story about how they met up at the library.

'How was your evening at Mother's hill?' Anna asked, turning around, in a voice that was dipped in marzipan. Basil looked up. 'Mary – Mary was in the library, wasn't she?'

'Oh no she wasn't. She was at Mother's Hill. With the Smithy boy.'

'I – well – is there anything wrong with that?'

'Of course there is. You know what he is,' Anna replied in a soft voice, sounding incredulous. '_Common_.' Her eyes swiftly turned around to Mary.

'I – I like him. He's kind, intelligent and I – well – _I _think he's quite handsome,' Mary replied, determined not to lose her cool. Her cheeks flamed with embarrassment.

'Oh, I _see_. Is he a _nice_ boy?' her mother asked, in a sickeningly sweet voice. 'I can't believe this. I really can't. _My_ daughter! My daughter, lying to me! _Mine_! Dallying away with – with—'

To Mary's horror, her father reached out and patted her mother's shoulder, as if she was the victim! Mary felt tearful – she thought her parents would approve! Her father always gave in to Anna. Her opinion was his. Her mother began to _cry_. She was so unfair!

'_I_ can't believe _you_. How could you be so selfish?' Mary shouted, determined not to cry. They all looked surprised. 'Gray – he – I – he's the first boy to ever like me! Why do you have to _spoil_ everything?'

'How could you _do_ this to me? Your mother!' she whispered, in a tearful rage. 'You lied to me, you're doing goodness knows what with some common boy, you come back after dark,' she sobbed. 'We were _so worried_ about you.'

'You _liar_!' Mary found herself shouting. She glared at her, and turned away, grabbing the doorknob, and pulling her coat closer to her. Her mother didn't know that she was wearing her best dress underneath her coat.

'Mary! _Mary_! Come back here _right _this minute, young lady!' called her father's voice, making a grab for her wrist. Mary wrestled her father's grasp, biting her lip with anger. Anna swept gracefully behind her, her arm rigid as she pushed open the green door. Her sobbing face turned spiteful.

'_I _don't care what _she_ does. _She_ can go spend the night in_ her _library,' her mother replied with a smooth viciousness in her voice, 'because she's _certainly_ not spending it in _my_ house. She can spend the _week_ there!' Basil loosened the grip on her hand and Mary broke free, into the dark snowing night. She had never been in such a state – nothing quite like that had ever happened to her! Her mother was unbelievable, unbelievable. What was wrong with her – could she possibly be – dare she say it – _jealous_, Mary thought incredulously.

She sank down on the spot outside the library door, the cold sinking into her tights. It didn't matter. Nothing could matter more in this moment in time. It may have seemed like a perfectly ordinary family fight, but to Mary, it was much, much more.

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Yes, I know it was long. D: I'm sorry the Anna Fan Club, I do like Anna, but you see, I did need a Wicked Witch/Stepmother role. D: She was easy to twist into that, though it might have been a little unrealistic of her to go so evil. Let me just say, this is a FunFic, it's not really very serious, although I will write it as well as I can. :) 


	3. Midnight magic!

Third chapter! This is so much fun to write. :D Thanks so much for your encouragement, Awesome Rapidash! This chapter is a bit… weird, but I'm sorry, _I'm_ weird. :) Yeah, this a bit unstructured, kay.

**Marytales**

Chapter three: **Midnight magic**

Snow White

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Mary picked herself up, delved into her pocket for the small golden key and turned it, clasping the doorknob. She felt the rough, peeling paint of the door, remembering the happiest day of her life; her fourteenth birthday, when the library was her present. It was wonderful. Mary and her parents spent the day painting it emerald green and carving in stars and all sorts of intricate patterns. That was probably the last time her mother was nice. After that, she went off. She staled into something horrible, like old bread.

She opened the door, and a thin, loud _creeeeak _sounded. It should have been a happy time – Mary had spent many a night lying awake in her bed thinking how nice it would be to spend the night in her library, her own library. She flicked on the light, which flickered a little, then quite decidedly went out. Mary fumbled around for the matches and after a bit of confusion, the lamp burned brightly instead, so a soft tangerine glow emitted around the old fashioned gold lantern.

'Now, now, Mary,' she whispered quietly to herself as she brought her knees close to her chin. 'Everyone's family has rows very much like these. Worse, in fact. Stop making such a fuss of it.'

But hard as she tried, she couldn't force the fact that it _wasn't_ a normal family row escape her. She picked up numerous books, searching for arguments; they weren't that different from her family's argument, if she took them out of context – but they didn't have that cold, chilling atmosphere. The one where she felt unsafe. Mary couldn't bear the fact that her library tower was attached to her house, that her mother was in the building next to her, possibly pushing her ear up to the wall, listening to Mary breathe. She shivered.

Mary tossed her sleek hair over her shoulder. She didn't understand her mother; why was she so arrogant? Why was she _crying_, like she'd let her down? Mary flipped through her old, cared-for book of fairytales. She had always been a bit scornful towards her own appearance, but she really did like how she was a weird version of Snow White. All fairytale maidens had long blonde hair – not Snow White.

'Fancy having a name like Snow White. Drop the book already, hunnny.'

'I … I liked him so much…' Mary whispered. She blinked as she huddled sadly over her beloved fairytales, surprised to see a perfect glistening teardrop fall and go _splat_ on the paper. Her eyes were wet and her nose stung.

'Oh, darlin', you ain't gonna get over this if you don't drop the book. Dry your eyes.'

'Well,' Mary whispered softly, standing up to put it away. Her eyes grew wide as she saw what was illuminating the dark corner and steadily lowering itself down the stairs. She thought the voice had all been in her head. She stood there, petrified to the spot and dropped the book in a sudden manner as it grew closer…

… and closer …

… and closer…

… closer…

'Oh, for _my_ sakes'! Dry your eyes hunnny, you ain't seen a ghost.'

Mary blinked, her eyes still overflowing with salty tears. She couldn't believe it. It had to be her imagination. The most eerily beautiful figure stood just over by the stairs, not too close to her. It was about seven feet tall, floating gracefully. It was too pure to be frightening. No feet could be seen beneath the flowing gown, just a strange, colourful cloud constructed of light.

'I never thought I'd – "meet" you,' Mary sniffed miserably, dabbing at her swollen eyes with a crumpled, used tissue that had been lurking in the depths of her pocket. 'Not till after I'd died, anyway.'

'Hmm'mm, that's what they all say,' the Harvest Goddess replied knowingly, picking a pearly handmirror out of thin air and examining her beauty in it. It somehow seemed more celestial and glowing than normal handmirrors.

'Really?'

'Uh hum,' she replied absent-mindedly. Her features were more than beautiful, they were out of this world. Her clear, beautiful, radiant skin; her shimmering green braid; her wide, starry eyes. Words couldn't possibly do her justice, nor could paint. All you could possibly say was that she was beautiful; radiant. She wore a soft, almost transparent emerald green robe that hung gracefully on her hourglass frame, ever so slightly billowing. One perfectly manicured hand gently rose up and snapped the looking glass shut, as it slowly faded into thin air again.

'Hmm… well,' the Goddess said in her ethereal, echoing voice. Mary was surprised to find she wasn't at all shocked that the Harvest Goddess had visited her. It seemed – well – absolutely _normal_. She couldn't help staring at the strange glowing figure.

'Look hunnny,' she said contentedly. It sounded quite strange in the Goddess's soft, rather whimsical way of speaking. Mary wondered why she spoke like that – she had _always_ imagined her with perfect pronunciation, with a gracious accent. The little librarian glanced nervously at the wall.

'They can't hear you, can they?' interrupted Mary in a rather frightened tone. 'I know I shouldn't interrupt _you_, but you speak rather loud – no – I'm sorry, I didn't mean—'

The Goddess merely shook her head with a coy smile. There was an awkward silence. Mary didn't know what to do – shriek hysterically or politely inquire why she was here. She sort of felt like she _knew_ why _she_ was there – but she couldn't find the reason. Mary shuffled about on the spot.

'You know why I'm here, don't you, darlin'?'

Mary shook her head, though she _felt_ like she knew.

'I'm your Fairy Goddess motherrrrr!'

'…'

'I see. Hmmm'mm, I thought you'd be more impressed. How old are you again, honey? Sixteen, is it?'

Mary _was_ impressed; at her "Fairy Goddess mother's" anouncement, the whole room seemed to light up in different colours, by no apparent reason at all. Mary wasn't sure if it happened at all. It could have just been the Goddess twiddling with the wires in her brain, causing this amazing illusion. She really was quite a startling … being.

'Sixteen,' Mary repeated. She had always felt particularly grown-up at the fact she was sixteen, but at that moment she realised she really wasn't a grown up at all – the Goddess made it sound like Mary was a baby. She blushed, embarrassed.

'Perfect age for fairytales,' the Goddess replied, being completely serious. She sent a book whizzing out of a shelf in a way that made Mary confused, petrified and scared. It was like seeing a fairy come alive in a book and step out of the pages. The book opened and flipped a couple of yellow pages. 'Sleeping Beauty. She was sixteen.'

Mary would have normally considered this unnecessary, but she felt as though she had been lifted from earth and taken to a place so wonderful and calm; she felt very special for once in her life. Very special.

'Anyway, I can _see_ you're chock-a-blocka fulla questions, m'dear, but that can wait. You have, um, adventures ahead of you! Amazing, wunnnderful things are gonna happen! Crazy, disgusting, freaky things are gonna happen! I have it all planned out. It'll be so fun!'

Mary fidgeted. Was this Goddess she had prayed to so many times really like this? Was she really toying with Mary's life for amusement? She couldn't tell if by what she said, it would be fun for Mary – or _her_. Mary stopped for a moment, hearing a thump from inside the house. She felt sick knowing that only a wall separated them from _her._ Even the Goddess turned to look at the wall with a startled expression. She seemed to read Mary's mind.

'I promise I'm not toying with your life for my entertainment,' she said softly. 'I just thought I'd help you out. In a more fun way – for you and for me,' she added, with a tone of mischief. Mary blinked. She was now speaking in the beautiful voice she had always imagined her with. The Goddess grinned meekly at Mary. Then she turned her attention to the wall again.

'Now – go. Go somewhere. Somewhere faraway from her—' she warned graciously. Then she waggled her fingers with a smile and added, 'Goooooood luck, hunnny, I gotta go see a certain doctor to finish my work shift – I like poppin' in on people in the middle of the night. See ya later alligator…!'

Mary waved and waved. The Goddess's echoing voice echoed further and further away, and the glorious person in front of her was fading like a hologram. Mary gasped – 'No, no, wait, don't go _yet_! Come back, I need to ask you a question – hey, come back!'

Before she knew it, the room was cold and dark and unlit. The lantern frazzled out all of a sudden, like a breath of fresh air blew it out. Mary buttoned the top button of her beautiful duffel coat, and knew what to do. She was going to go somewhere her mother would never look – if she noticed she was gone…

I know that the "Fairy Goddess mother" was a bit weird and blatant and stuff in this but I was too unimaginative to think of a more subtle way, but then I kinda decided to make her blatant after that…so… yeah. xD

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Happy reading! 


	4. Frost

Thank you Awesome Rapidash. :D You're so nice. I'll go check out your fanfics again, now, I think.

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**Marytales**

**Chapter four: **Frost

Snow White

Mary closed the door behind her, hearing the _clunk_ of it closing. The sky was like ink, with snow like great white petals drifting. The street was lit only by the dim streetlights, and even the policeman had gone home; it must be late. She stepped forward and staggered slightly, feeling a little drowsy and dazed, swaying as she stared head on at the sheer beauty of the little snowflake that had landed on her sleeve.

She examined the intricate design; like lace, but more fragile, more delicate. She watched it melt into the fabric of her duffel coat and wondered who could have made something so precious and easy to break, and what kind of resources they used for it. Mary looked back at the library and then knew who'd made it. She couldn't help wondering if it had all been a dream, if she'd just accidentally fell asleep. She remembered a someone telling her to go somewhere – "Somewhere faraway from here—"

Well, she wasn't going to do that! Her mother was probably bawling her eyes out, crying for her daughter. She simply _had _to go apologise to her mother. The whole silly argument was all her fault. Mary convinced herself this was true and flicked her hair about, sifting it from side to side. It had gone into soft ringlets from the dampness. Her whole body was numb and ached sadly from the cold.

Mary heard a door open behind her, and the lurid yellow lights unpleasantly filtering out onto the snow that was sparkling a pale peach colour, already an inch off the ground. She saw a tall shadow stretching out from behind her, with rounded hands like claws, looking vicious and frightening. Then the shadows shifted a little bit, and shapeshifted into a pleasant, round shadow.

'Ah, Mary! I knew you'd be here.'

Mary threw herself into the arms of her father, feeling her nose sting a little bit. He smelt the same old sweet flower scent as normal. They were going to go home and live a normal happy family life, no arguments, she would be the best behaved child, and they'd both love her and they'd have family day outs and it would be a happy ever after. She looked up at him earnestly. 'Daddy… I'm sorry.'

He smiled knowingly. 'You really should be, Mary. Your mother's extremely upset. She's been crying all night and say stuff – awful stuff, not like her at all,' he replied, looking a little crestfallen. He then smiled mischievously, and Mary felt a little sprinkling of hope that he might mention how awful Anna had been. 'Though you really were _awful_ Mary; I think we both know you had more than a little to blame for this whole thing, but I have some – news for you—'

Mary stepped back a bit from he loving embrace. She hated how he was saying that in voice that simply dripped in though-you-already-knew-that-didn't-you. She didn't! She seriously thought she'd scrape up a little more sympathy than that.

'What news?'

'—Well, your mother and I both agreed we're going to relocate your bedroom to the library. There's less space in the house, and now you're sixteen – you're nearly a woman – we thought you might want more privacy. I'll move your bed and possessions into the library tomorrow, and we'll put some kind of curtains round it to sort of hide it. It'll be warm enough, I should think… you do understand now, Mary?'

Mary managed a wet smile. 'I understand. In fact,' she whispered. 'I'll move in tonight.'

'Great! See you at breakfast.'

Mary closed her eyes and listened to the door close. Her last scrap of hope had been thrown away – her father had agreed with Anna, the wicked witch of Mineral town. He didn't even chat about anything to her like normal, and he hurried back to the house very quickly indeed. Mary opened her eyes and wasn't surprised to see them overflowing with tears.

She glanced up to the prim little terrace house she had lived in yesterday, and was taken aback to see a tall, sinister figure in hair rollers and a dressing gown staring down at her, Mary, from the gleaming little window with its sinister eyes. Mary gasped, and the next second, the figure had disappeared. The pale lush green curtains billowed softly, as though disrupted by sudden movement.

Mary felt a huge surge of fright rush through her body, and she knew what she was going to do. She was going to go somewhere – somewhere faraway from here. She strutted down the lonely empty street, feeling the snow drift harder and harder until it was gliding down like small daggers. She passed the perfect little Tudor houses, she passed countless glossy red mailboxes. She stopped at the church, looking up at the stainglass windows, her cheeks itching with the tears. She was going to make a rash decision. She looked at the ethereal, glowing figure in the windows, and realised what to do. She passed the church swiftly, and tumbled down a slippery little path she hadn't noticed. She wiped her eyes, and blinked. She was in a not-so-little forest.

She tried to scrabble up the pathway but it was too steep, too icy. Trees and trees surrounded her, each and every one covered in a thin frosting of violet snow. It was dark, it was scary, and purple shadows crept about everywhere. She sat there, feeling depressed and broken. How could her life go so wrong in one day?

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Yeah, you can see where I'm going with this one. This fairytale thing has been done like, yah, so many times and stuff, but I'm sure having fun with it. :D YAAAAY! I actually made a short-ish chapter for once (and a boring one, as well :o). Thanks for reading. If you did. xD 


	5. The small seven

Thank you guys so much. :) This chapter is long but I'm satisfied.

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**Marytales**

**Chapter five: **Little seven

Snow White

Mary lifted a boot and grabbed onto a tuft of frosted snow, but her foot slid down the path and she was too small to lift her self up onto the ledge. It wasn't possible, not in this weather. Tears seeped down her face. She felt like stamping her foot and screaming, but nobody would hear her cry. She wept, sinking down into the nest of crinkled purple leaves. Nothing worse could happen now.

She glanced up through her hair to look around her surroundings. There was no light to be seen, apart from the dusk pouring in from the path she couldn't reach. She had never been here before; she had heard tales of a separate wood where creatures worked, deep in the centre. She racked her brain, trying to remember what this creature was – her mind flicked from harmless fairies to great wolves.

She'd be a liar if she declared she had never tried to find these creatures. She had looked in the woods where the woodcutter lived, but those woods were too commercial, too public, too bright. Everything here was a deep, luscious purple; from the light creeping in from the path to the leaves on the trees even to the light reflected on the snow.

Mary picked herself up and sniffed, deciding to look around for some way out, wandering around the forest. Why had she never seen that pathway before? Granted, it was hidden by a bush, but surely someone would have been down here before? She felt a little bit lucky that it was slightly warmer in here than the streets, but she had too many things on her mind. Her cheeks stung with the tears – her parents had _basically _kicked her out! They didn't want her anymore. She was useless.

Maybe if she went missing for a couple of days – just a couple – then her parents might decide they were wrong and how much they missed her. Of course they would. She could imagine Anna knocking on the library door and running to Basil her face strewn with tears. The only thing was… there was nothing here. It was just a scary wood. An empty scary wood.

It was certainly beautiful, but so frightening; everytime she heard a rustle she look around, only to find it was her jacket brushing against a tree. Everytime she heard a crunch she'd gasp, when it was only her boot. Everytime she saw a tall, sinister shadow she'd shiver, though it could just have been a tree. It was so silent, so silent.

'There's nothing _here_!' she screamed. She'd go mad. She turned back to the path to maybe attempt to climb up it again. The path. She looked left. She turned right. She looked behind that big old tree. Where was the path? Where was it? It was right here – _where was it???_ She glanced around, not wanting to let this happen to her. She raced around every tree, looking for a filtering of light, a slippery path, anything. She screamed helplessly.

She was going mad. She teared around the place, feeling extremely frustrated and angry. Her hair had fallen into wild curls, her eyes were swollen, and her cheeks bright. If anyone saw her, they would think her scary; perhaps that's why monsters were so scary – if they were stuck in places like this, never to find a way out, they _would_ become just like her. Her life was doomed to be local folklore.

'There's nothing here! It's just a stupid forest with nothing in it! No food, no animals, nothing!' she screamed, her cheeks wet. She stopped. She had suddenly smelt something. Was it the distinct bitter smell woodsmoke? The smell drifted up her nostrils. She followed it obediently, her eyes closed in bliss; it was so nice to smell something manmade, something other than the damp smell of crushed leaves. She rushed excitedly, her heart pounding

Mary calmly trailed her fingers through her hair, feeling very cold and damp. Her hair had tamed itself into calm ringlets of ebony, which was just about good enough. The smell was very distinct now – woodsmoke. The very thought of the idea of warming her numb hands against a roaring, crackling fire filled her with excitement; she could just see wisps of grey smoke, and soon it was getting thicker until – she looked behind a tree to a neat little enclosure, a circle of trees; it looked safe and warm and welcoming. The grass was frosted and short, with a couple of tiny footprints. Mary squealed. There were lights on the trees, and a little lantern on what turned out to be the thing to make her night even weirder. A door. On a house.

A large house, smoking puffing out the chimney that lay on the thatched roof; it was wood, with little gleaming windows with bright curtains. The lawn was clear of old leaves. She fell in love with it at first sight. Before she could stop herself, she scurried over to this gleam of light in the darkness, checking all the windows. No one was in. On the door – which, disconcertingly, only reached about an inch above the already short Mary – there was a tiny note, in tiny handwriting, written rather quickly and rashly.

_We have all gone out mining. If you have come home early, you can let yourself in. Make yourself at home, budum! If you are the owl or the squirrel, leave the goods by the door. Will be back later._

_ - Chef._

Mary giggled uncertainly – maybe if she convinced herself that she didn't realise this note only applied to the members of this … family – she could sneak in – just for a bit. Her stomach groaned with emptiness, her fingers felt like they were on fire with the cold, and her legs hurt. They were all gone. She didn't take time to notice that the note said something about an owl or a squirrel, or else she would be too confused to process this information.

Before she could stop herself, her hands gripped the golden doorknob and she found her leather boots wiping the dirt off the mat inside the porch; she glanced around after taking off her lace-up boots. Seven little hooks with seven little coats amiss them. Seven little umbrellas – about a foot long each – in all-different colours; bold red, forest green, aqua blue, midnight blue, hazy yellow, tangerine orange and bright purple stood on the umbrella stand. An old fashioned lantern glowed in the corner of the wood paneled porch. Mary stared around in bewilderment, her head in a daze with guilt and excitement. She was trespassing. She was a criminal. She was going to get caught. Strangest of all, she was scared beyond her understanding.

And yet… she ventured on into a wide room, well lit by the same old-fashioned lanterns, with the same glossy wood-paneled walls. The floor was the same wood planks as the walls; everything had the same quaint charm. She stepped curiously into the room. Was this a home of a family? It seemed to be so; but everything seemed to be built for a group of small children. From the multicolored small armchairs gathered round the equally small fire crackling; to the bright books in the one foot tall bookcase; to the chairs that barely reached Mary's shins, all in different colours. There was a long table in the middle of the room, covered with linen so soft and fresh Mary could not help but stroke it as she passed by. In the middle of the table was a pot of water so fresh she wanted to drink from it, filled with seven little flowers in colours so bright she wondered how on earth they had gotten them. Tiny cutlery lay on the table yet to be used.

And the most glorious of all, a small delicate kitchen. It was part of the same room, just a little "alley" of a kitchen, which was perhaps all it needed. An oven, a sink, a few cupboards, all the same gleaming colour of pale pink which was rather peculiar but nice all the same. She felt like a giant. She almost screamed with happiness when she saw what was resting on the window sill. A pastry, steaming with hot air, complete with flaky, rich pastry. Mary grabbed a tiny knife and cut herself a piece, watching the red, hot insides burst with cherry flavour. She grabbed it with two hands and stuffed her face with it, making sure not to drip any. Then she helped herself to another. She breathed with delight.

Making sure to tidy up any mess, to make up for her crime, she crept her way over to the door when she paused. She saw another small door, with a hand stitched tapestry stitched saying "Bedroom". She brought her hand up to wipe a piece of cherry off her cheek, and thought it might not hurt to have a look inside. She set for the door, crouching a little to let herself inside.

Just as she thought. Wood panels, oil paintings of woodland creatures, flowers, the same fresh bread smell, a small crackling fireplace… mmm. Seven little beds, four on one side, four on the other and one at the top of the room. The bed was built for a small child, just big enough for someone small like Mary to lay herself upon… of course, she wouldn't do that. The beds were the seven different colours she had seen quite a lot of by now; there was an old-fashioned lantern on the wall above each one; the quilted blankets were satin, and coloured; the bedstead was wooden and carved; the pillows were satin white, too soft and clean for someone as tired as Mary to resist. She found herself in front of a forest green bed, removing her coat and placing it neatly at the end. In just her dress – her best dress she wore when she was with Gray. Gray… he seemed so faraway now.

He _was_ faraway. He would be in his itchy cotton bed at the inn, long asleep, while she was in her soft little feather bed in the middle of a wood miles and miles away… she wondered what he was dreaming of. Maybe he was still awake. Maybe he was thinking of her, like she was thinking of her. It was only a couple of hours ago that they were sitting on the green highlands of Mother's hill, talking, reading, talking… it seemed like it was years ago.

She closed her eyes.

* * *

THIS WAS SO FUN TO WRITE. 


	6. Tea in the big bad woods

I have not updated this in over a year, I believe, and I am surprised at myself. I wrote this last night, as I have a deadly flu. Ahh. The suffering writer.

* * *

**Marytales**

Chapter six: Tea in the big bad woods

If you happened to find yourself in the big forest which was perhaps a mile north of Rose Square, on the night little Mary drifted off in that small bed, which might I add, is quite unlikely, you would know that it had been a cold, dark night. It was the first frost of Mineral town's winter, and snow had just begun to fall in large snowflakes. Families would gather round their little radio the following morning to hear broadcasters tell tales of "four foot snow"; which someone like Mary would have heard about long before.

It was a cold night and a dark one too. Dawn had fallen over the forest, pale light breaking through the dark shadows of the leaves and dappling the snow that lay as of yet thin on the ground. Had anyone been gazing over that little hut in the forest, you would know it had been relatively quiet until about half past four in the morning – the occasional owl complaining about the cold could be heard, but that was about it.

The rising bubble of small voices could be heard, and seven little lanterns bobbling around in he dull light, and seven shadows to match.

A tingle of freshness ran from under the window that had been left slightly open, twirled around the room and brushed Mary's dark hair. Light was being drip-fed through the window, filtering in until it lay dappled across the room, and outside in the forest.

But it wasn't until they began to pile into their bedroom that Mary awoke. No, it wasn't even until one of the seven small figures drew attention to the fact that a strange girl lay, asleep, in his bed.

'_There is someone in my bed!_'

'Budum.'

Mary sat in their strange house with their strange blanket wrapped around their shoulders. She gazed wistfully at the cup one of these strange little men had placed into her hand. She blinked. 'Oh no...' she whispered. 'Relaxation tea? I can't possibly accept this... it's really one of my most favourites delicacies. It has rather amazing healing properties – I... thank you.'

She stared at the green liquid, and felt obliged to thank them again. She gazed around at them – seven, small, almost androgynous children in colourful clothing, would be the best way to describe them. 'Thank you,' she said, and began to cry. She felt sick. She felt silly. She suddenly remembered everything and she, in a moment of powerlessness, began to cry. First her nose stung, and the sting travelled up her nose to her eyebrows and one tear rolled down a pink cheek. Before she knew it, the stuff was rolling down her face.

The little men were silent for perhaps ten seconds before a babble of guilty chatter rose as seven handkerchiefs were offered. Mary, who had not time to examine her situation, took the nearest handkerchief from a little man in green.

She sobbed uncontrollably into the soft cotton, crying out her self-pity and the feeling that she had made a terrible mistake. 'Everything has gone wrong!' she mumbled into the handkerchief. It felt so awful to be here, to accept these oddities' kindness, to feel so completely disconnected from reality. 'Is it all a dream?'

The sprites, which she would soon learn to know them as, looked at each other. One dressed in red stood up, and he seemed to exude confidence, and most importantly, seemed most interested in her welfare. 'You must be Mary, the little girl from the library." Before she had time to ask questions, he continued. 'We are the sprites, and my name is Chef. We know everything about little Mineral town, budum. We're friends, not enemies! It is cold, and it is dark, and there are things and people outside who are not friends, budum. Stay here.'

And so Mary stayed with the harvest sprites. By that first morning, she had already learnt that those curious colourful suits were made of a felt mixture; that Aqua was tidy to an infeasible extent; that she was approximately six inches taller than each of them. In turn, they had learnt that Mary was rather fond of tea; that she had an extra-ordinary appetite for books and had digested two and a half by supper; that she was considered quite small back in town.

Whenever she thought about town, and life, she developed a sick, stressful ache in the pit of her stomach – she didn't want to think about what was right, and she didn't want to think about reality... she couldn't help but think... this was a dream. She wanted to forget.

On her first day, Staid, who she defined by his indigo work clothes, showed her their small green house, and their vegetable patch. Mary sunk her knees into the layer of snow, and gazed at them for approximately ten seconds before lifting her chin. 'In winter?'

'Budum, it's a secret, Budum! We have our ways, Mary... these are the potatoes, and these are the turnips. But, Mary, Mary, you must look at what is more amazing, budum!'

Mary followed the little man, and was followed to a tree that was just behind the hut. As a girl who had grown up with trees and flowers, she did not need to see the bright red globes lying on the white, white snow to see it was an apple tree. The winding branches and the pale green leaves dusted with frost were unmistakable.

She bent down to pick the fruit up. 'Are you sure? How did you...?'

But if there was anything Mary was to learn in the days to come, it would be that the sprites were very mysterious in their "line of work". Staid nodded, and Mary took a bite. It was sweet, and it tasted red.

Mary spent the first day very adjusted and pleased with the quaint manner of the sprites – they seemed to have that same soft glow of that the Harvest Goddess did. She talked and chattered to them, admiring their identical blond curls and their childlike nose and she liked how they would sit outside in the evening as the forest seemed to come alive with animals and lanterns. She sat in her blanket on the cold snow with a cup of cocoa, and she felt... happy.

Yet that was the first day. She soon realised that the sprites were busy with work, and what work! They spoke of "good doings" and "nurturing", but Mary never painted a clear picture of what they spent their hours doing. She would while away the hours by sitting by the vegetable patch in daylight. She was going crazy, definitely. She spent her time tending to their little garden, watering and nurturing the little seeds sprouting from the small wooden boxes surrounding the house. Every day she went and sat by the boxes in the winter sunshine, admiring their strength and their stability. It snowed more and more every day, but these herbs and winter vegetables, they grew strong from under the cold, heartless snow.

She was expected to cook and clean, and darn their tiny socks. That was okay. But it was just so lonely when they were gone, and so, so scary. They blackness of the forest seemed to press against the pane. The trees seemed to lean together, their plum coloured leaves sugar frosted, shaking, reaching. She would read their strange, beautiful books when that happened, draw the curtains, and fall into a world of aubergines and herbal properties. It disconnected her, which was reassuring. She tried not to think about all the strange things that occurred; she had never been a girl entirely connected to reality. Behind those dark eyes, she was away in another world, another world.

She was afraid of the dark.

* * *

Well. I'm incredibly rusty in the whole writing area, but I'm very enthusiastic about it right now, and hope to update... regularly. Hmm. Maybe. If anyone is interested in this, then I thank you for having patience in my rather over done writing. Thank you thank you! AND I am very very keen that you tell me how I can make my writing better... what I am interested in is how I can make everything more readable... better fonts, bigger/smaller paragraphs -- tell me!


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